


all your unimaginable promises

by impertinency



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinency/pseuds/impertinency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had made a vow once, when they were young and foolish and unaware of what their futures would hold, that they would never let anything come between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all your unimaginable promises

**Author's Note:**

> The plot is based on book canon, but all character ages and physical descriptions are based on show canon. Since this is canon divergent it requires a lot of timeline handwaving so pretend that Jon found out about Ned's death and Robb calling the banners before he took his vows. It's canon divergent from _A Game of Thrones_ to _A Storm of Swords_ , but there are no spoilers past _A Clash of Kings_ /season two.
> 
> I had been trying to write this for awhile and was finally inspired to finish when I stumbled upon [this lovely drawing](http://orlesianfruitcakes.tumblr.com/post/37992749985/why-dont-you-be-the-writer-and-decide-the-words-i). I had planned this as the first in a series, but who knows if that will happen.
> 
> Title from "A Short Testament" by Anne Porter.

 

It’s nearing dusk by the time the council adjourns, leaving Robb alone in the tent staring at the maps spread across the tables. They’ve been in council ever since he sent his mother and Theon off as envoys yesterday morning. His bannermen all have opposing views about this war and Robb finds it difficult to determine whose words hold more weight. He trusts them with his life and respects their opinions, but he’s still cautious about making the wrong move. Nothing he learned from Maester Luwin or Ser Rodrik trained him for leading an army. 

Robb sighs as he leans back in his chair, regretting that both his mother and Theon are gone. They were the best choices for envoys, but they were the only two people in camp he could actually talk with. There’s only so much he can confide in to his bannermen, after all. With them he has to be The King in the North and the Young Wolf, the warrior who captured the Kingslayer and who keeps outmaneuvering the Lannister army. He can’t be Robb Stark, the boy who misses his brothers and sisters, who goes to sleep dreaming of Winterfell and a family that’s reunited and removed from war. One day soon, he promises himself, he’ll leave the battlefield and war behind him and will return to Winterfell where he belongs.

He casts one last look at the maps before him and grimaces as his stomach rumbles. Standing, he debates going off to find something to eat but before he can decide, Olyvar Frey enters the tent and bows, holding out a thin scroll. Robb’s not happy with much that came from the deal with Walder Frey, but he’s been pleasantly surprised by Olyvar as his squire. He’s been as loyal as any man from the North, which Robb supposes is the best he could ask for.

“A letter just arrived for you, Your Grace,” Olyvar says, holding out the scroll. “A man of the Night’s Watch brought it.”

Robb raises an eyebrow as he takes the letter. The only time the Lord Commander had sent men to Winterfell was when he was requesting new recruits. Any other messages had always been sent by raven. Robb knows that the Wall is cut off from the rest of the kingdom and tends to receive news late, but he can’t imagine that they’re so far removed that they don’t know about the war. 

He unrolls the scroll slowly and spares a quick glance at its contents. “Give me a minute to read this, and then send the man in.”

Olyvar nods and slips out of the tent, leaving Robb to stare down at Lord Commander Mormont’s short, terse note. It’s an update on the wildlings behind the wall, his suspicions about their possible rebellion, and a request for more men. Robb hasn’t taken nearly enough prisoners to send off to the Wall and he needs every one of his own soldiers. But still, the North has always been a friend to the Watch and Robb knows he needs to do what he can to honor his family’s pledge. 

And, he thinks, it won’t hurt to send more men if it means he’s providing aid to his Uncle Benjen and Jon. He’s sure that if they were in the position to do so they’d do the same for him. Just thinking about Jon makes him feel maudlin, and for a brief moment Robb wishes that Jon is the one who brought the letter. He’d give anything to see his brother again, especially now when he so desperately needs to talk to someone. He misses all his siblings but Jon most of all. Jon has been by his side since they were children and Robb misses his presence more than he expected. He wonders if it’d look foolish if he sent a letter back to the Wall, if it would make him appear less of a king and more a boy.

He pushes away that train of thought when he hears someone enter the tent. Without looking up from Mormont’s letter, he says, “I’m afraid you’ll have to tell the Lord Commander that there’s not much I can do right now. I can send some prisoners but not as many as he’d like.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The man’s voice is barely a murmur, but it’s so achingly familiar that all of Robb’s words die in his throat. 

He’s almost afraid that he’s hearing things, but when he looks up he finds Jon standing near the tent flaps, his posture tense and his expression uncertain. He’s pale and haggard, clad entirely in black, his hair long and unkempt. Jon takes a half step forward and then halts as if unsure about his reception. It’s enough to shake Robb out of his stupor and he crosses the short distance between them, pulling Jon into a tight hug.

“ _Jon_.”

He feels Jon relax in his arms, the tension pouring out of him as he wraps his arms around Robb. After a long moment of reveling in the fact that Jon is actually here, Robb pulls back and says, “Look at you all in black. It is your color.”

Jon smiles wryly. “Not for much longer.”

It takes Robb a second to understand, but then the blood drains from his face and he feels a stab of fear flood through him. Robb has always tried to follow his father’s teachings, and while he knows he has a duty to uphold the customs of the North, he doesn’t think he could bring himself to punish Jon even if he did desert. He’s not particularly happy at that thought and he wonders what it says about him. 

“Jon, why are you here? Please tell me you didn’t desert.”

Jon’s silent for an agonizingly long time, but then he shakes his head and says, “I didn’t take my vows, Robb. I was going to but then I heard about father and you calling the banners and I knew the Wall was the last place I was meant to be. I think I would have deserted even if I had taken vows. I have a better chance of protecting you here than on the Wall.” He pauses, suddenly looking unsure again and then says, “If you want me here, that is.”

There’s no a situation Robb can think of where he wouldn’t want Jon beside him and he’s surprised that Jon would even state otherwise. “Don’t be stupid. Of course I want you here.”

The relief on Jon’s face is unmistakable as he says, “Good. Mormont wasn’t happy to see me leave, but I don’t know if he’d have accepted me back.”

“His loss is my gain,” Robb says. There’s a thrum of giddy excitement coursing through him and for the first time in a long while, Robb feels like the pressures of commanding an army have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s delighted to see Jon again and it’s already gone a long way toward restoring the alienation and worry he was feeling earlier.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. He throws an arm over Jon’s shoulder and guides him over to the table, motioning toward one of the chairs. Jon looks as if he’s either ready to fall asleep on his feet or die of starvation, and once he’s seated Robb pokes his head outside the tent and asks one of the guards to bring them some food. When he returns, Robb watches as Jon eats as if he’s half-starved. He barely touches his own food, irrationally afraid that if he looks away Jon will disappear.

“I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome,” Jon says as he eats, careful not to meet Robb’s eyes. “I’m sure some of your bannermen won’t be happy to have a bastard serving beside them. And I heard your mother was part of your camp. Surely she’ll protest.”

“Jon, they won’t care. Half of them have brought their own bastards along. As for my mother, she has no say in whether you stay or leave since she’s not the one commanding this army. Besides, I’ve told you that I don’t care who your mother was.”

It’s an old argument, one they had more than once when they were children. Robb won’t pretend to know what it’s like for Jon, but he’s done his best to try and assure him that he’s as much of a brother to him as Bran or Rickon. He knows he made some egregious comments when he was young, repeating words he overheard and didn’t truly understand, but he likes to think that he made up for those comments in all the years that followed.

Robb hates that Jon still seems to question his place and he knows much of it has to do with the kingdom’s treatment of bastards as it does his mother’s own dismissal of Jon. She won’t be happy when she learns that Jon’s here and Robb knows that when she returns from Renly’s camps she’ll try to convince him to send Jon back to the Wall. But his mother isn’t the one fighting this war and he’s old enough to make his own decisions about who to trust and who to have beside him. He knows his mother is uncannily shrewd and surprisingly strategic when it comes to political games, and while he values her opinions he learned long ago that to ignore whatever she said about Jon. 

Given the look of skepticism on Jon’s face, it’s clear that he doesn’t believe that he’ll be allowed to stay once Robb’s mother returns. He just gives Robb a pained, polite smile and says, “Even so, I’ll be happy to just join the ranks of your men.”

Robb looks at him in irritation and has to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Stop it. You’ll sit beside me in council and join the others as part of my personal guard. You’re my brother, Jon. Your place is beside me.”

Jon flushes, his lips quirking up into a slight smile. A comfortable silence falls between them as Robb finishes eating and Jon scans over the maps on the table. His gaze lingers on Winterfell and he reaches out to trace a finger along the map.

“I stopped there on my way to you,” he says. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until I saw the castle again.”

“How’re Bran and Rickon?” Robb asks. He hates that he has no idea when he’ll next see them, that he can’t even send a raven for fear of someone intercepting it.

Jon frowns and when he looks at Robb, his gaze is troubled. “Bran is better than he was when I left. Rickon less so. They both miss you and the girls.”

Robb rubs a hand over his face tiredly. He’s as worried about Bran and Rickon left alone in Winterfell as he is about Sansa and Arya alone in King’s Landing. 

“There were two Frey boys there as well.”

“Courtesy of my mother’s deal with Walder Frey.”

“Also,” Jon says slowly, “Howland Reed’s daughter and son are there.”

“ _What_?” Robb asks, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. “I’ve been trying to contact Howland Reed but I’m not sure if any of the ravens even found Greywater Watch.”

“Bran said they were sent there as a show of support for you. Bran seems to like them.”

“What else have I missed since being gone?” Robb asks, only slightly bitter.

Jon gives him a searching look but just shrugs. “Nothing else. Rickon kept asking about the Wall,” he says with a soft smile.

“And was it everything we dreamed about as boys?” 

“Larger and colder,” Jon says. He doesn’t elaborate and Robb doesn’t push him to. Whatever secrets Jon has about the Wall are his to keep unless he wants to share.

Logically, Robb understands why Jon went to the Wall. But it didn’t hurt any less to hear him confirm it, to know that he had made those plans without once confiding in Robb. They had come up with wild stories about the Wall when they were younger, spurred on by the tales Benjen told whenever he had visited Winterfell. Robb’s interest had waned soon enough, and while he had known Jon was always more fascinated by Benjen’s stories, he never actually thought he’d up and leave to join the Watch. 

They had made a vow once, when they were young and foolish and unaware of what their futures would hold, that they would never let anything come between them.

“We’re going to stay in Winterfell forever. We’ll fight together like the warriors do in Old Nan’s stories. You can be my knight or the commander of my guard, but you have to stay because that’s what brothers do,” he had said, all of six, eager and naïve and wanting nothing more than to spend his days playing at swords with his brother.

And Jon, as solemn then as he was now, had promised with nothing but the weirwood and the wind rustling through the leaves as witnesses.

It’s been awhile since Robb thought about that day and he suddenly wonders if Jon even remembers it.

“Do you remember the vow we made as boys?” he asks. 

“Which one?” he asks, and Robb’s surprised to see that’s he’s grinning. “The one where you made me swear not to tell Sansa you were the one who ruined her dress? Or the one where we agreed not to tell Theon we hadn’t actually visited the brothel?”

Robb laughs as he recalls both memories. “Neither. And if I remember correctly, you helped me ruin Sansa’s dress,” he says. 

“An accident on my part,” he says.

“Sure,” Robb says dryly. “But actually, I meant the one we made before the weirwood. We were about six.”

“Of course,” Jon says softly, the grin slipping off his face. “I remembered it when I was at the Wall, you know. When the Lord Commander was talking about our vows and duties, I wondered whether one vow canceled out another or if being at the Wall meant I was still fighting for you. I didn’t know if you still remembered. We never talked about it.”

“There’s a lot we never talked about,” Robb says. “There’s a lot you never wanted to talk about.”

Jon’s expression turns sullen for a second, and he’s about to reply when there’s movement outside the tent that makes him stop short. He peers at the tent flaps suspiciously. “Is there somewhere else we can talk?”

Robb’s about to argue, to say that none of his lords or guards would dare to eavesdrop, but he knows it’s a foolish suggestion as soon as he even thinks it. They’re treading on dangerous ground, broaching something too intimate and too invasive to be discussed somewhere where anyone can overhear. Robb knows how easily rumors can start, how even the simplest whispers can ruin a man. 

“Riverrun has a godswood not far off. No one should bother us there.”

Robb keeps the conversation light as they walk, telling Jon about the battles he’s fought and the plans he and his bannermen have to march on the nearest Lannister forces. Jon knows nothing of warfare beyond what he learned at Winterfell or the Wall, but Robb is happy to finally have someone to talk to without the risk of sounding like a fool. Jon was his best friend and confidant for years and sharing his fears and concerns with Jon comes as easily as breathing.

“Everything happened so quickly. Father should have never become the King’s Hand,” he says as they enter the godswood. He’s surprised to see Grey Wind and Ghost curled up together near the base of a large tree. Ghost’s head rests on top of Grey Wind’s and he stares at Robb with unblinking red eyes as they approach. He licks Robb’s hand when he crouches down to scratch behind his ears, causing Grey Wind to let out a low whine as if protesting the lack of attention. Robb rolls his eyes and scratches behind his ears as well.

Jon passes by the wolves to lean against the tree, watching Robb intently. “I don’t think father had much of a choice. He didn’t ask to become Hand of the King.” 

There’s a heavy weight behind his words and Jon’s gaze flicks up to the crown on Robb’s head before he looks away. Robb knows that Jon has never gotten over his parentage, and he’s often wondered if Jon resents him for being trueborn. Now he wonders if his crown is one more thing Jon resents, if it’s one more rift between them.

Robb frowns, unsettled by the thought. “I didn’t ask to be named king either. Who would willingly ask for that type of responsibility? I was prepared to become Lord of Winterfell, not King in the North. I don’t know how to lead an army or win a war.”

It’s the most he’s ever said about his new title. He hasn’t even talked about his kingship with his mother or Theon, the only two people he could have confided in after that fateful council meeting. For all that he’s been successful on the battlefield, Robb worries that he’ll fail as a king. It’s not something he dares voice to anyone.

“You’ve done well so far,” Jon says. 

“What good is having an army when I can’t even rescue Sansa and Arya from King’s Landing? Sansa is still betrothed to that brat Joffrey and I’ve not heard a word about Arya. I’d give anything to march to King’s Landing, but half my bannermen would abandon the cause if I did.” The words are bitter in his mouth and he still hasn’t come to terms with his inability to lay siege to King’s Landing. He wants his sisters back so he can ruffle Arya’s hair and listen to Sansa gush about knights and love songs and lemoncakes. 

“We’ll get them back,” Jon says and his hand is warm where he clasps Robb awkwardly on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “You’ll be a better king than any Baratheon.” 

“I just want to be as good and honorable as father.” 

“You will be. You’ll be a good king. Strong and kind and noble. There’s not another king I’d gladly bend the knee for,” he says. His voice is soft but strong and there’s such unwavering loyalty and love behind the words as he kneels in front of Robb and lays his sword at Robb’s feet. “I made an oath long ago to stay with you. I won’t break it now. You’ll have my sword as long as you want it.”

Since becoming king, Robb has had scores of men pledging their lives and their swords to his cause, promising to fight with him until death, vowing to uphold the traditions of the North. But none of their words have been as heartfelt or as genuine as Jon’s. 

“I couldn’t do this without you,” Robb says, voice rough with emotion. He doesn't think Jon will ever understand what it means to have him here, what it means to hear him offer such praise and reassurance.

“You’ve done fine without me. I’m proud to call you my king,” Jon says, and the affectionate smile he sends Robb means as much as the words. 

Robb releases a shaky breath as he crouches down, cupping Jon’s face in one hand and rubbing his thumb across Jon’s cheek. Jon leans into his hand, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a soft sigh, and it makes Robb feel warm and fond and utterly, utterly glad that Jon is here with him. “Will you promise to stay with me until the end?”

It’s an echo of the vow they made years ago, but it makes Jon smile as he captures Robb’s hand in his, placing a brief kiss on his knuckles as he murmurs, “Always”.


End file.
